


Best Friend

by GunpowderFlaw



Category: Eminem (Musician), Machine Gun Kelly (Musician), Music RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Dude’s delusional and violent prone, M/M, Mental Hospital AU, Nursing Assistant! Colson, Orgasm Denial (sort of?), Patient! Em, Sociopath! Em, more like ejaculation problems as a side effect of medication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GunpowderFlaw/pseuds/GunpowderFlaw
Summary: In which Colson worked at a mental facility and Em was his first patient.Could get gory, you’ve been warned.
Relationships: Colson Baker | Machine Gun Kelly/Eminem
Comments: 52
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m aware that my depictions of the so-called sociopath are inaccurate, as 1)it is now referred to as ASPD instead of sociopath or psychopath; 2)people with ASPD don’t necessarily show aggressive or aggravated behavior and some may live their whole life without a diagnosis(which could also indicate a lack of psychotic episodes). I’m sure there’s more, and I don’t want to be an ignorant and arrogant asshole writing about the disorder without acknowledging my limited understanding of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said on Tumblr that I was gonna post this before Halloween ends, it’s super later but there are places in the world that are still in October, so technically I did it! 
> 
> This chapter was a bit rushed and I might make small changes to it later, also I’m probably gonna take the next week off, which means chapter 2 should be out in two weeks? 
> 
> Anyways. Writing this was fun and I hope you enjoy!

A new patient was supposed to be coming in today at 2pm. Colson mused, checking the time on his phone for the eighth time. It was half past two already, and this - sociopath with delusional disorders and a propensity for violence, doctors said - Marshall Mathers was nowhere to be seen.

He knew it was going to be a difficult case, Mathers was not only Colson's first patient as a nursing assistant, but he also stank of trouble. Colson cursed under his breath, now he regretted having that little squabble with his director. A fit of howling wind blew over the parking lot, carrying yellowing, dehydrated leaves and slapping them on the windshields of ambulances.

Finally, the blond, stern looking, heavily sedated Mathers came in a wheelchair a little over three o'clock. The nurse pushing the wheelchair sported a clearly annoyed expression as they approached, while the only thing the duo had in common seemed to be the palpable indifference dripping from their each movement. He didn't expect Mathers to look cute, in an inexplicable way with his bleach-job-went-awry, which must be the reason for his yellowish hair. 

"Good afternoon." Colson said, trying to appear hospitable, he frowned when the nurse handed him Mathers as if the small man was some cargo, and left without a word.

"That went well." He thought out loud.

"Couldn't be better." Mathers commented. The noncommittal tone made Colson feel a chill climbing up his spine. Somehow he felt an impulse to get in front of the wheelchair, leaning forward to grab onto the armrests on either side of the shorter man's body. And he did it. "Hi, I'm Colson, nice to meet you." 

"Your name’s as white as white gets." It seemed the line was intended to sound dramatic or sarcastic, but apathy clearly won the upper hand.

"What?" Colson blinked, "suspicious coming from someone named Marshall."

"Who?" Mathers was like a blackhole for enthusiasm, he couldn't tell whether it was from the sedatives or his mental problem.

"You, obviously."

"I never acknowledged that fucking name." The man spat, "it was technically rape. Are you a rapist?"

"What? No!" Colson struggled to maintain his composure as he fought the urge to shrink away from the patient that he was quickly losing control over. "What's your name then?"

"Eminem." The pout was cute, Colson thought to himself.

He snorted. "So you want to be named the initials of the name that you don't want to be named?"

Eminem said nothing, however his stare intensified while locking on Colson, trailing up and down in a scrutinizing manner, as though he was internally putting Colson in an inferior position. He almost jumped when cold fingers touched his hand, he glared at the culprit, who now managed to smirk a little.

Brushing off his uneasiness with exasperation, he straightened his back and crossed his arms, "also Eminem is like, candy. So I'm just gonna call you Em." It was unfathomable even to himself as to why he automatically started playing by the other's rules, but despite his inward unwillingness, he couldn’t stop himself from acting prematurely, like an easily manipulated victim. He told himself that it was for establishing a positive relationship with his first patient.

"Fine by me." Em said as he abruptly averted his gaze, making Colson feel at a loss. Everything went astray from his expectations and he fumbled to regain some form of control.

Another burst of rapid movements of freezing outside air yanked Colson's wandering mind back to the parking lot, and Em was looking at him thoughtfully, with curiosity and something else - if he didn't know better, he would think fascination was a part of it. Some dark places deep inside him churned happily, as though they fed off this kind of twisted attention. 

*

Pushing Em around was more difficult than he had assumed, especially when the effects of those sedatives started to wear off. The guy was restless, shifting in his seat and nodding rhythmically to some nonexistent music, and for twice he tried to stop the wheelchair by grabbing onto its wheels. 

“You don’t have ADHD for Christ’s sakes! Quit it Em.” Colson scolded, trying his best to come off authoritative. If he was being honest, he liked Em’s quirkiness, but meanwhile he hated situations where he had no reign in.

“No I don’t.” The man deadpanned. “But you - on the other hand - I like.”

“What?” He couldn’t believe his ears.

“You are too easy.” Said Em.

Colson waited for the other to elaborate while pushing him through the long, narrow corridor, but the man seemed to have no intention of keeping the conversation going.

“What do you mean?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Em hummed, tilting his head back so he could have Colson in sight, “when did mental hospitals allow their employees to have man-buns?”

He looked down in disbelief, at least the third time today after taking Mathers in. Which was quite an accomplishment for Em considering how rarely Colson got flustered or surprised. He had his fair share of wild and crazy back in the day, and had reckoned himself well-informed of every kind of weird shit out there. 

Besides, he wouldn’t be working in a mental facility if he was completely in his right mind. He might’ve taken a little bit too much delight in the sufferings of the patients here, his sadistic self immensely satiated when he was at work. Nevertheless, Em still threw him off in the first thirty minutes of their encounter. 

Unable to check himself, his hand shot up to give his dirty blond bun a pat. And Em was observing him again, like a kid being brought to the zoo for the first time. 

“Let’s just enjoy the silence for a bit, don’t you say?” He said bitterly. Em’s room was located on the third floor, at the end of the corridor. The room was facing north, which made it dingy and shadowy in the afternoon. Its door could be locked from the outside, and on the inside there were straps attached to the single bed whose springs were near broken and would creak whenever someone tried to sit on it. There was a small, square window that couldn’t be opened embedded in the wall, with blinds covering the last beams of the dwindling natural light. They arrived, as fluorescent lights clicked on, giving everything inside the room an aura of bleakness.

“This is gonna be the room for your stay here.” Colson introduced, and because he just needed to have some triumph over the other man, he added, “make yourself at home.” 

“What happened to enjoying the silence, Colson?” Em drawled, not menaced in the slightest. He clicked his tongue, “liar, liar, pants on fire.” 

Suddenly Em grabbed his wrist, palms damp with a sheer layer of sweat. A squeak burst out of Colson, yet it wasn’t out of fear, instead, he felt blood rushing through his veins, adrenaline pumped, or was it arousal? He was too distracted to tell. 

Em had successfully scrambled his brain within only an hour. Swallowing, Colson’s body went on autopilot and brought him to back off until he was out of the door. On shaky legs, Em stood, cocking his head as he gave the wheelchair a nudge, “you forgot your wheelchair.” The flirty smugness was blatant on the shorter man’s face.

Fighting his urges to blush, Colson took it as he held onto the still warm handles and ran off the second he was out of Em’s sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sociopath! Em is now officially my favorite character to write ;))
> 
> Warning: there’s some misogynistic language in this chapter.

A middle-aged person with extra fat piling on their upper thighs, and a soggy ass was the two things Em pictured his next nurse to have. Turned out he got it all wrong. This young, tall - too skinny to be called a hardbody - person who seemed very inexperienced was none of those things. His name was Colson. Somehow with all the power and dominance display, Em could still smell poorly veiled traits of a prey from the younger man.

Although knowing that it probably would make the reports on him look bad and presumably prolong his stay, Em still did all those things on purpose, just to tease the new nurse, also testing if Colson was the boring type who could appear fun in the first place. It got Em overly excited when the lanky, jumpy nurse fitted into the opposite seamlessly, that he had to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants before taking hold of Colson’s wrist.

And that was when he made the big discovery. Colson had tattoos, and he had a lot of them. It wasn’t like some cowardly first try that led to a small, cute and obscure design that could be smartly hidden when its exposure was to be avoided, nor was it a poorly planned and executed vast landscape that intended to make its owner look cool or add some intimidation value. He saw those heavily inked lines hugging the nurse’s entire forearm as his hands clasped around the slender wrist, a touch short of yanking it, eager to get a more thorough peek at them. As someone who had plenty tattoos himself, Em knew those kind of tats stood for stories, origins, and uncovering all of them was an act that could be as intimate as any sexual exploits.

A surge of excitement that had long been foreign to him rushed through his body at the thought of peeling off the nurse's white coat of authority and running his fingers, tongue and even maybe teeth along those lines curling around Colson’s torso. He wondered where those tattoos would end.

Em smiled to himself as he sat down on the bed that was long past expiration date. No doubt the nurse was weirded out, even Em himself admitted that he went a bit overboard with the wrist grab. The move risked baring his desires, which usually linked closely with people’s weaknesses, along with susceptibility, to Colson, whose actions he couldn’t yet predict.

As he sat piecing together the events of his encounter with Colson, Em noticed that something was off. It was a small thing that people wouldn’t normally pay any attention, because people usually consider a job in a mental hospital - a job, and nothing more. But he obviously knew better than normal people. Those brain dead walking corpses could never compare, he thought with a sliver of smugness. Someone like Colson, young and hopeful, wouldn’t settle for dead-end jobs like this unless they could get something other than monetary benefits out of it.

“So what kind of crazy are you then?” He muttered to the dead air locked inside his room, intrigued.

As though awaken by the vibration of his speech, the ventilation system hummed to life, spitting a flow of cool, stale air into the room.

He lied down and crossed his arms on the pillow before laying his head on top. Closing his eyes, Em breathed, then without any warning the nurse’s face shot into his mind, an almost taunting expression on the scrawny man’s features. Em flirted with the idea of biting Colson. Getting a taste of that sweet blood directly from its source suddenly became incredibly enticing, and a fraction of him had already started planning on achieving that.

It seemed Colson would be his new obsession for the next couple of weeks.

*

It was time for Em’s medication, and Colson hesitated - he totally forgot to formulate a plan that could remind Em of his place, which was, of course, subservient to Colson. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the movement followed by a sharp shake of head, as if to loosen up his tense and excited state of mind.

Exhaling, he reflexively scratched the back of his head, the shaved bottom half felt spiky to the touch. Trailing upwards, the remaining long hair was pulled into a neat bun, with a little bit of hair gel to hold it in place. A modicum of the sticky gel got onto his hand, and he rubbed it off with the napkin that was supposed to be brought to Em along with a cup of water to help wash down the pills.

As Colson was walking down the corridor, tray in hand, he noticed there was a door wide open on the left side, cool toned light cascading down onto the floor from within, the bustling shadows declaring its dweller’s abnormal condition. On his way of passing the room, he craned his neck to take a curious peek. There was a doctor and a nurse, both short and somewhat overweight, standing by the bed fixed in the corner with their backs to the door, so at first the view of the patient was entirely blocked. 

He cleared his throat, and as the two turned to look at him Colson saw the crazed-looking patient. It was a woman, whose age was made difficult to tell due to the deep, dark-red hollows around her eyes. She was strapped to the bed so tight that the veins in her pallid arms were popping out, a thin line of shadows complimenting the protrusion. Her eyes shot to him as well, pleading, and even with all of the shades surrounding them Colson could see her dilated pupils, a result of whatever drugs they had given her. Colson swallowed thickly, imagining Em's face as a plan formed in his head.

"Something you need?" The doctor was talking to him.

"Um, no." He cleared his throat again, "carry on." The pleading look on that woman's face faltered and sank into despair before it was out of his sight. 

He kept walking, heart pumping up and down inside his ribcage, muscles on his legs almost shaking with excitement that he couldn't walk properly. Until he was outside of Em's room, he stopped and contained himself, re-arranging everything on the small stainless-steel tray before unlocking the door. 

He was welcomed with Em's scrutinizing stare. Em was perched on his bed, one knee propped up, both of his elbows against the mattress, as he leaned back in an inviting yet domineering manner. Cold blue eyes trailing down Colson's body as Em wetted his lips almost innocently.

Everything Colson had prepared to say slipped out of his conscious mind, he opened his mouth in vain under the intensity of that stare, then shut it. The tray was spitefully dropped onto a small table with force, nearly knocking over the glass of water. Em huffed with amusement, and quickly sat up straight. Colson instinctively took a step back as the other reached out for the tray.

Em picked up the wrinkled napkin and brought it close to his nose. Frowning, he sniffed it calculatedly. "Don't tell me you rubbed that tight little ass of yours on this." 

Things were getting out of control faster than Colson had predicted even with the precedent of their first encounter. He could tell the other was doing it on purpose, but it didn't make the situation any less embarrassing, and it seemed he was unable to quell a tiny spark of exhilaration emerging deep inside him. He could feel his heart rate climbing again, blood slowly moving south. Frustrated, he sighed audibly. "Doc said you sucked blood from your girlfriend's tits. That why you are here?" He asked, passively changing the subject.

"Bitch was cheating on me, so yeah." Em answered without blinking, like they were talking about weather.

"That's your excuse?" He pressed, "especially when the cheating part was only in your head."

"So you are saying that I'm delusional?"

He was not supposed to discuss patient's conditions with the patient. "You said that, not me."

"So that's a confirmation." Em shook his head disapprovingly. "How about this, you let me suck your tits and I won't tell this to the doctors."

Colson found himself equally disgusted and aroused by the crude request, but he ignored it, and bit out an "oh gosh, you got Oedipus Complex or something?" as he struggled to hold up his crumbling composure.

No bothering with an answer, Em started picking up pills from the tray and taking them one by one while locking his eyes on Colson, letting the question hang in mid-air, as if mocking Colson's pathetic attempt at navigating himself out of this increasingly lewd conversation. Em finished the last lithium pill, and downed the water with three gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Then he picked the napkin up again and dabbed it on his wet lips with the same side Colson used to wipe off the hair gel. And Colson was left with no choice but to watch the other helplessly, blood pooling in his lower abdomen.

"I bet you wish it was your skinny ass here instead." Em lightly tabbed his now dry lips with a finger.

"Ha, ha, you wish." There was no point in denying himself of getting aroused anymore, in the time lust was blatantly written all over his face, his hands, suddenly felt out of place and too heavy to hide, fidgeted with the pockets' seams on his medical coat as he avoided Em's eyes.

"Or do you prefer to lie on your back and spread those legs and wrap them around my face?"

The mental image immediately took over his mind, he was flustered, ashamed, yet thrilled being the center of attention whenever he entered Em's room. He could sense Em watching his reactions, and all he could think of was that he would probably get away with screwing one patient under the pretense of performing basic level behavioral therapy. 

It was the thought of a picture of the small, bloody cuts on Em's ex-girlfriend's breasts calmed his flaring desire, he hadn't tried being on the receiving end of pain inflicted by his sex partner, but he believed he was more on the spectrum of a sadist and thus enjoying it was not his forte. Then he realized all that he needed to do was making sure he had absolute control in every possible scenario before trying anything with the other man.

Oblivious to Colson's last string of thought, Em cocked his head, seeming foolishly content with his vulgar proposition. "I prefer that you shut your damn mouth." Feeling bold, Colson brought himself closer to Em, snatching the tray from the table in front of the other.

Em's hand promptly reached up to play with the hem of his coat, and much like their first direct contact, he caught the other's wrist and pulled the hand away, not missing Em's amazed rise of eyebrows, feeling in charge for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading *heart emoji*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s definitely getting smuttier in this chapter, although I feel I couldn’t do my imagination justice because life’s been whooping my ass lately(technically life’s always been whooping my sorry ass so no worries there). 
> 
> I’m trying to set up a weekly update schedule for the rest of this fic, so you are welcome to roast me for not posting a new chap next weekend lol

After one day of piquing but torturous rumination and scheming, Colson went back to work with a bouncy conviction, yet at the bottom of that abysmal cocksureness there simmered a sense of indecisiveness. His already made-up mind wavered for the possible consequences of his planned action, but he also knew if he didn’t comply with this overpowering desire boiling in him, he would sit and watch the chance slipping, hesitating, helpless, until it was gone, until it drove him insane.

After changing into his freshly cleaned white coat that distantly smelled of cheap detergent, Colson pulled his hair in a tight bun, when he was reaching for the scentless hair gel out of habit, his hand stopped dead in its track as the image of Em sniffing the napkin blasted into his head like a derailing train. Aggrieved, en route to the hand’s retreat he inadvertently snapped his fingers, as if it could diminish the frustration that image evoked.

The almost painful pull the hair band exerted on his scalp cleared his mind a bit, he inhaled, then grabbed the small tube of lube from the corner of his drawer, behind a stack of patients‘ report and forms that had long been filled out and abandoned after the people they were about checked out of the hospital. Those crinkled paper in fact belonged to Colson’s predecessor, who allegedly was fired due to an accident that led to a patient’s overdose, but rumor had it that the truth was more gruesome and distasteful that it was never released to the public. Although that was probably more hyperbole than anything else, Colson thought sullenly, almost with a hint of dissatisfaction. Nonetheless, everything about that incident was in the past, but Colson still kept those reports for the sole reason of making his schedule look fuller than it was, so that he could utilize the time for some extracurricular activities.

The enema solution he used earlier that day in the shower left a weird sensation - not entirely emptiness, but close - at the bottom of his back side, and he was fairly sure that the discomfort was not a result of wrongful usage since he had read the instructions three times before poking himself in the fucking ass and squishing in the lukewarm liquid. Shifting his weight from right leg to the left, he decided to hide the inconspicuous tube in his pants’ left pocket where had also been used to carry pills he skimmed.

Em's therapy supposedly had started yesterday, but he doubted if it'd be any good if Em himself was as unwitting, or unwilling to acknowledge his conditions as he appeared. Pulling out the same stainless steel tray, Colson got Em's prescribed pills, a glass of water, and a napkin - this time careful not to cause any wrinkling to the soft material. 

On his way to Em's cell, he took a shaky breath, impatient, mind dissecting what he should be about to do into simple, foolproof steps. "Chill," he mouthed to himself, "it's gonna work." and exhaled long and as even as he could manage, feeling better almost instantly when it registered that the surveillance camera having Em's door in its frame just broke down this morning, and on that account there wouldn't be any hard proof on him even if his little adventure drew some unsolicited suspicion.

This time what welcomed him behind the locked door was Em sitting on the floor with his back against the bed-frame, one leg propped up, and upon it rested a tattooed arm.

As he walked inside, the small tube in his pocket suddenly felt impossibly hefty and scorchingly hot, almost searing the skin over his thigh through the thin layer of fabric. That was definitely in the book of hyperbole... and obviously impossible, he added internally. 

Setting the tray on top of the side table that was in the opposite corner of Em’s bed, Colson was just about to begin setting his plan in motion when Em’s insouciant voice rang from behind him, “this time no napkins smelling like your sweet ass huh?”

He groaned, “it wasn’t—” then realized it was futile to explain when the other was merely trying to irk him. “No need to beat a dead horse like that.” He said instead, content with how collected he sounded.

“I’m not beating the horse because I want it to die, but because I want to beat the horse.” Em said, and Colson was in time to catch the shrug the other gave.

“You really think you’re smart, huh.” He smacked his lips, brushing off the other’s outrageous claim.

Em was looking at him defiantly, his chin up, a smirk happily draping his apathetic face. It was almost cute in a way, but then again if Em was merely cute Colson wouldn’t have paid as much attention as he was now. Em’s invidious weirdness edging on the side of captivating got him irrevocably hooked. Also, it was entirely unfair to leave out the fact that Em had the face of an innocent deer - maybe Colson’s biased but who cared? - that he wanted to wreck, to see its total unravelling, not from extreme physical abuse, but one that was from a more emotional place which hopefully Em possessed. To Colson, each patient was like a mystery waiting to be solved, and right now Em’s the ultimate prize that he was confident he would soon win. 

The thought of it filled him with an avidity, as he was turning on his heels and reaching out to press down the emergency button on the outside wall of Em’s room, a resolution swelled up within him as the signal got picked up and answered.

He was standing in the corridor, facing the room when the assistant - tall, muscular but balding, judging from the solemn expression on his face he was prepared to act upon whatever horrid scene that might come into view - came stomping, while Em was sitting there, studying him with a kind of zesty interest.

“He’s getting upset.” Colson pointed a considerate finger at Em.

Next thing he knew, like a weightless leaf, he was swiped to the side by the brawny assistant, then in seconds Em was already secured to the bed, the earlier interested look on his face replaced by an obvious scowl. Colson grinned, as the scowl distorted Em’s face further in response.

“All yours, Baker.” The assistant, Jack, or something like Joe, straightened and beckoned him with somewhat a delighted look in his eyes. 

“Thanks.” He said, curt.

Then he was left alone with Em, who was now strapped to the bed while Jack - or Joe or whatever - took off with the same rushed steps.

The door snapped close, and Em’s eyes followed Colson as he proceeded to go stand by the bed. The way Em’s clear eyes looked up at him made it overly easy to fantasize that they were filled with awe and reverence. As if mesmerized by the picture generated by his own imagination, Colson traced a sympathetic finger down Em’s brow bone, drawing a invisible line to connect it with his jawline, too preoccupied feeling two days’ worth of stubble with his fingertip to register the swallow that caused muscles to shift on the other’s neck. 

“Didn’t think you have the balls to pull this off.” Em commented, his voice, unlike its usual smoothness, became coarse as Colson tentatively touched his collarbone.

“Oh he thinks he knows me.” Colson snickered softly, a short burst of air flowing out of his nostrils, while his fingers lingered over Em’s carotid artery, “how cute.”

“So you didn’t spend a whole day hiding and scheming and jerking off thinking about me before barging in here acting all chill and in control?”

Colson froze, now each of the other’s heartbeat felt terribly distinct under his fingertips, once, twice, before he managed to extract himself from the headspace of shock and stupefaction. He didn’t want to give the other any form of satisfaction over his dumbfounded stiffness, so instead of deliberating some clever retort, he slapped the other directly in the face, causing a subliminal wince from the other.

Recovering from the unexpected move, Em’s tongue stuck out to wet his lips, as though there was something to be uttered. But Colson paid that no attention, because those lips were suddenly right there, soft, smooth, moist, and he couldn’t think of anything but to feel them, with whatever part of his body.

Taking off his medical coat and the thin shirt underneath successfully shoved no matter what Em intended to say right back down his throat, and the momentary amazement surfaced on Em’s nonchalant face was delectable enough to make Colson feel cocky. He climbed onto the bed and straddled the other, making himself comfortable as he nestled his hips on Em’s thighs.

“Hope those drugs are not making you softer than a foam pit.” He teased, before shifting up to grind against the other’s dick - obviously hardened - through layers of their pants. The shorter man’s arms were straining now, those leather straps cutting into the flesh when Em tried to push himself up from the bed. 

Palm open, he stroked Em’s crotch as he got up a bit on his knees. Em groaned.

“You like being tied up, is that it?” Colson situated himself back on Em’s clad dick, pushing down hard enough to squeeze out a pained growl from the other. 

“No, in fact I’m picturing how scars would fuck up the perfect tats over your tits after I slice them up.” Em said, floundering against his confinement. “Just small, shallow cuts, you’ll like it.” The shorter man added, as if trying to get Colson on board.

Even in his sexed out trance, what Em said still sent chills down his spine, and somehow turned him on even farther. But there was no time confusing over why his body reacted to something he shouldn’t like the way it did since he still got one more thing in his knowledge to flaunt.

“I see you can still get it up,” he said, pulling out the tube of lube and shuffling his ass out of the light-gray pants, then slowly coated his fingers with the satiny substance as Em eyeballed him and unconsciously wetted his lips over and over again, “but with meds like that, can you really cum?” Leaning in to take Em’s earlobe between his teeth, Colson whispered as he shoved two tacky fingers into himself and moaned from it, while dragging his bare cock up Em’s clad one and sighing contently from the other’s frustration. With his cheek almost against Em’s, he could feel how hard the other’s clenching his teeth to stifle a couple of indecent moans. So he slapped Em again, across the face with his free hand while straightening up and stuffing one more finger into himself. Some desperate nasal noises finally leaked out of the person under him, and Colson could feel his balls tighten assured of the power he possessed over the other, of how he cracked Em’s facade with little effort. His cock was rubbing a growing wet spot onto Em’s pants in rhythm to his own fingers pumping in and out of himself, and his free hand flew down to tug Em’s dick through the fabric, which elicited a loud enough grunt that he worried for a moment if anybody was going to find out about their “therapy”.

“Fuck, you fucking slut.” Em blabbered when Colson’s hand retrieved to jerk himself off right against the shorter man’s balls, which were still not freed from the gray patient pants he had on. 

Colson’s arm began to feel sore with the pace he had been finger-fucking himself, but he ignored it and kept rubbing his prostate, frantically chasing his orgasm while Em’s agonized groans egged him on. He moaned long and shakily when he came, stripes of cum painting Em’s clad crotch, right on top of the other’s straining erection.

Getting off of the bed, Colson sauntered to the table that had the tray on top and took out the spotless napkin, he flashed it to Em before using it to clean the mess he had made between his own legs. 

“You slut, you better be fucking careful of the things I’ll do to you.” The threat sounded weak when Em was still strapped to his own bed with a hard-on that covered in cum not his own.

Colson donned all of his clothes and put the napkin back, before taking the tray and getting back to the bedside. He tsked, looking at the stains on Em’s pants scornfully, “dear, look the mess you’ve made of yourself. I hope it won’t happen again or there will be punishment.” Em fell silent, eyes locked on him with an expression akin to spite. “Let me help you with your meds.” Colson continued joyfully, picking up a pill, “now open up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, I was feeling extra petty cock blocking Em but one of the side effects of antidepressants(also used to treat ASPD, google said) is ejaculation problems so... I ain’t apologizing for what I wrote :-/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, two weeks and only one update? Perhaps I could’ve done better without a schedule at all because plans in general just make me feel confined and then anxious when I failed to follow them (lame excuse alert). Gosh this chapter’s been killing me and it seems I could never be satisfied with it, I might still do some edits here and there after posting so please bear with me!  
> That said, hope you enjoy?

Before happily taking off, the fucking nurse had enough balls to dab that used and rumpled and damp napkin against his lips after he was forced to swallow all of those pills that were somehow making him fucking impotent. When he was finally released from his bed Em had to focus on the imagery of Colson being cut open from the center-point between his nipples all the way down to merely above his slut cock to not throw a tantrum that would send him directly back to his prior position. He thought about how thin streams of blood would gush out of the incision as the nurse was kept upright, with droplets drizzling downward, creeping until they coalesced into a small rivulet of carmine and flowed all the way down to reach the tip of Colson’s dick and aggregated there, forming a larger and rounder drop before finally falling to the ground - or better, into Em’s mouth.

Yet with all the fantasies, Em had never been able to inflict gashes on a living, breathing person, with the cuts on his ex’s breast merely from shallow swipes of a razor, which only resulted in mild bleeding that didn’t even engender more than two drops of blood. That time, before he got a real taste the bleeding stopped, what followed was his ex, crying and writhing, generally just being annoying, pushed him off with a sudden boost of incredibly unreal strength, and before he fell back from the high, she called the police on him.

Earlier still, out of curiosity, he had tried slicing a greasy piece of pork he picked up from some nameless farmer’s market. The cold, lifeless piece of meat shivered before opening up to him, but to his great disappointment, there was no blood at all. What lay in front of him was a neat cut on the thick skin of a pig that had already been bled out. He remembered going through an overwhelming feeling of despondence for days after throwing that irritating piece of meat away, the emptiness inside him consuming as his inability of sedating his thirst for blood rang especially loud in the wake of that fruitless pork tryout.

That was when he started picking up traces of his girlfriend’s unusual behaviors, which strongly indicative of an affair, and he became obsessed with gathering evidence of her cheating - either a zoned out gaze when he was talking to her, or furtive glances she stole at her phone - as it became increasingly easy to draw the conclusion of her fucking their dealer, who was a skinny dude that would be pegged as an addict with one look from just about anybody that’s not blind. One obsession overlapping with another, both of them ended up in hospitals - emergency and rehab for her, mental facilities for Em.

*

By the time his dick pathetically deflated without finding release, Colson was already gone, before shutting the door he promised gaining Em access to the public areas on the condition that nobody would discover their "appointments" - which was a plural - then took off confidently without waiting for a response. 

Em bit his lips, suppressing a frustrated groan as he sat up, head still spinning with aggravation and disbelief. At least now it was impossible to link Colson with anything to do with the word bland or boring. Recalling his earlier rather innocent speculation about Colson, Em’s mouth twitched sarcastically. However, after seeing Colson riding his own fingers with his thighs spread wide atop him, Em was still beginning to look forward to what would happen next. Although he was furious at how the slut nurse reminded him of his impotency, he wasn’t stupid to the point of denying that Colson was he best shot of getting out of the cuckoo’s nest. Yet the thought of being Colson’s pliant little plaything, even if it was a pretense, revoked a mixture of revulsion and anger and anticipation from his usually violence-plagued, impatient heart.

But his mind kept snapping back to the tattoos Colson was basically covered in, the red "locals only" made Em wonder how many people had had successfully gotten into the nurse's pants, and soon the thought meandered to how different Colson's moans would be when there's an actual dick buried in his pert ass and a gush on that flat chest. 

The thought of toying with Colson like a hound would with a wounded prey again pumped blood into the throbbing organ between Em's legs, the dried, hardened patch of cum pressing painfully against his oversensitive cock that hung and swung achingly as he got up and threw himself onto the floor, arms merely in time to catch himself and avoid the hard crush.

A hundred push-ups were enough to force his mind back on track while his dick shriveled and sweat started dripping down his forehead. Struggling with the last push, Em kneeled onto the floor with a thud, ignoring the bruises the crude movement might cause. At the same time blunt pain over his knees hit him with the realization that getting to know more about Colson before hurting him wasn't what Em wanted anymore, beginning the dissection physically sounded like a better idea than his initial plan of cracking Colson from a more metaphysical perspective. Slowly, he stood up, wiping at his sweaty face with a sleeve. 

Being civilized only worked when you had an ulterior motive, he shrugged at his reflection on the embedded window, as if sharing some secret with a friend, and violence just consummated it, he mouthed the words while watching his lips’ movements on the somber surface of the window, smirking. But the complacence rapidly drained away when he lifted his shirt to inspect the results of one month's lag in his unrefined workout routine - the hard planes of muscles that used to cover his stomach when he was still working on automobile assembly lines had softened into puddles of something that was not quite fat, but would bunch up whenever he sat with a snug posture. 

As he was raising his head, the washed out light refocused to his hair, accentuating the dark roots that had sneaked up on him during the days after transferring here. Bitter, he started to slowly pace the room while his mind loitered to pinpoint the source of this unbearable humiliation and indignation of his. His ex? She had already gotten her much deserved comeuppance. Then sporadic images of meetings with his psychiatrist followed in quick succession as the woman worked in vain trying to figure out the root of Em’s anomaly without realizing her so-called normalcy was based upon the majority’s consensus of the word’s definition, which meant it was a relative notion that simply could not apply to Em. What’s good in forcing an apple to peaches’ standard? But his resistance to therapy eventually led him to this hospital with a much more upgraded level of security, and more importantly, into Colson’s dirty little hands. Now feigning willingness to cooperate had barreled to his number one imperative. It was the thought of the cathartic effects of getting his long-awaited revenge that finally gave him a boost to his slight disheartenment.

*

Even the usually dim corridor stopped appearing so hideous as before. Walking down the bleak passageway, steps jaunty, Colson listened to the quiet clatters of the items in the tray he held with joy, as the sounds of different texture harmonized beautifully into a rhythmic percussion.

He pushed open the door with one steady, self-assured finger after unlocking it, and Em was again on the floor leaning against the bed frame, checking Colson out from head to toe. But he couldn’t help but notice how the fierceness in the other’s eyes differed from yesterday, as though there was some kind of inconsistency breaking Em’s scorching stare into layers, sediments that enfeebled the intensity of those pale blue eyes. Crouching down, he held the tray in front of Em, signaling the other to take the pills. 

Despite the fact that he basically came all over the other man a day before, this position got them impossibly close, their eyes leveled, and he could feel the edges of Em’s warm breath sweep through the back of his hands.

Em washed down those small, round caps without a word, and Colson took the chance to study the shorter man, who was lowering his head as he reached for a slightly bigger capsule.

“You can look cute when you’re not talking.” Colson purred, “the pointy nose of yours especially kissable.” Realizing what he said might sound exorbitantly soppy, he added, “but we both know appearances can be awfully deceptive.”

“Not really.” Em said, meeting his eyes in a vicious manner. “You look like a slut and you act like one, I ain’t seeing no discrepancies.”

“Now that’s not a nice thing to say, wouldn’t you think?” Colson asked in a singsong. “Unless you want to be punished that bad.”

Em fell silent and threw him a scornful look, refusing to give him an easy win.

“Alright then, how about you behave and I help you with that little problem of yours?” Colson took a glance at the other’s crotch, announcing “maybe I’ll even sit on it.” while scratching his nose with a finger absentmindedly.

“Oh I can see you want to.” The tip of Em’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and instantly a diaphanous sheen graced the plush flesh. Colson’s throat tightened involuntarily. A crisp clink captured his attention, his eyes lowered to find Em’s rather delicate fingers rubbing up and down the slender body of that tall glass as their owner’s chin raised in defiance. 

“That’s not the only thing I’m offering.” Came Colson’s dry, monotonous reply. “For your compliance, obviously.” He stood, readily turning towards the door.

A loud smack reached his ears faster than the stinging sensation climbing up his back to wrap its tendrils around his consciousness, Colson yelped before it struck him that Em had just spanked him. “Do I need to remind you?” He snapped.

Em’s eyebrows shot up in an attempt to display artlessness, “you weren’t exactly giving an order.”

“Fine. You had it coming.” The spank definitely left a mark, Colson figured, since he couldn’t help but limp a little the first step he took. On the second the burn alleviated, and he sped up, cutting off the half playful “I had what coming?” with a slam of the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have completely thrown that weekly update schedule out of the window, mainly because I’m experimenting with different writing methods and styles and it’s more time-consuming than I thought.  
> I’m so sorry for the wait and hope you enjoy :_)

The public area was, to put it lightly, sickeningly marvelous. It was like a school for sickos during lunch-break, and each and every one of them had a little bit too much to share, as long as Em found the right thing to say to get them started and continued to give out the simplest encouragements that spurred them on. 

After escorting him to this more open and spacious room located roughly in the center of the third floor (the building itself ran narrowly from west to east with rooms packed on either side of its length), with a pinch on his forearm, which probably was meant to be done in more of a mocking and inconspicuous fashion, but turned nasty pretty quickly since the nurse seemed to have developed a predilection for imposing physical displeasure that could elicit entirely unwanted and humiliating responses from the shorter man, Colson left, the gasp from Em echoing in his wake.

“It was... apocalyptic!” The girl he was trying to talk to wailed, as though she was again going through the “melee”, which to Em sounded more like a messy catfight with other two girls at some bar, precariously. “You gotta see the hair, the smudged crimson lipstick and those broken nails...” she trailed off, eyes suddenly glassy, avoiding Em’s questioning gaze, “...I’m telling you, those two were demons!” Her eyes drooped, the crystal-like glaze over them shattered, and tears rolled down her pallid and distorted face in two stripes of dimly gleaming wetness under the fluorescent lights. It wasn’t exacting to tell that the girl was the type Em would pick up if there weren’t screws up in her head loose, before she morphed into this somewhat puffy sack of meat held together by prematurely wrinkled skin. With the lighting, everything looked dead, thus this could be his afterlife, Em mused inwardly, and he was having a chat with someone convinced that she had seen actual demons.

“Um, okay?” He wondered if there had ever existed an appropriate response to demon-spotting, “what did you do?”

“I swear to God I saw their eyes turn red!” She shrieked, “I had to do my part...” Precipitately, she wiped at the half dried trails on her face with the back of her hand. “And the blood was so... sticky.”

Now that was interesting. “Yeah? How was it like?” He urged, donning a gentler voice that psychiatrists always used on him when they thought he was about to make some kind of confession.

“Glinting... it was glinting, and thick as honey, almost black in color, devilish...” she reached a hand at something Em could not see. “There were sparkles in it! I swear there were, so seductive, that I wanted to kiss it, even lick it- I was so close...” A tremor wrecked through her body, her lips shivered, “I, I-”

“Was there a lot of it?” Enthused and impatient, he cut her off.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, then her face changed again, an expression akin to proud materialized on her freckled skin as the apprehensive tension abated. “I made the devil bleed.” 

Then her coherency descended into a fit of unintelligible blabbering interspersed with high-pitched and demented laughter that Em had to wander off to stand by another patient when a nurse barged in to drag her away. To say that they were going to dig to the bottom of her sudden ebullition wasn’t a far-fetched prognosis, so it would be better if he wasn’t spotted in her immediate vicinity when the staff came running. 

“She told you about that demon shit?” Someone was getting closer from behind him, judging by the increasing volume of the sentence. Agitated by the unsought proximity, face stern, he spun around hastily to find another girl, who appeared to be much calmer and more stable, studying him with what he assumed to be a habitual challenging expression. Or maybe she was just sedated, he reminded himself of their circumstances. Her chin up as she worried her bottom lip heedlessly in face of Em’s inimical glare before opening her mouth again, “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’.” Her voice was unvarying, almost robotic.

It should upset Em, for that after chatting with a handful of meatheads he was almost convinced of his intellectual superiority in this entire building. But this girl was apparently not it, as she watched him in the same way he looked at everybody else, scrutinizing, flippant, and sharp. Weirdly, there was an endearing quality to her presence, something like relief soothing his secretive growing worry of the correctness of his delusional disorder diagnosis since objectively it could be reflective of his own state of mind when surrounded by patients who were too easily manipulated to the point that he suspected them of congenital brain damage.

“She did.” He decided to engage, “that happen often?” 

The girl seemed unaware of, or just didn’t care about where his thoughts went. “Too often.” She complained.

They found a rather limited expanse of blank white wall without any furniture’s obstruction and both leaned against it, from where they could take in everything that was happening in the room. Two patients at the other side were starting a staring contest, their eyes slack and pupils blown. An older man with a hunchback was going around in circles near the window, his slanted shadow moving in sync with his flabby movements. There were two security doors on either side of the room, behind one was the long corridor going through patients’ rooms, and the other the staircase and offices. Em crossed his arms, so that he wouldn’t have any bodily contact with the girl, who had her arms hanging naturally by her sides.

They languidly watched the whole room in comfortable silence for some time, before Colson emerged from the door leading to the office areas, and he was talking to another nurse, features relaxed while they exchanged words, clueless about Em’s penetrating stare. 

“What’s your deal with that dude?” A voice drained of emotions asked.

Em dragged his eyes away from Colson’s tight bun, diverting them to the girl next to him. If anything, she seemed curious. “What?” Feeling protective, he feigned a kind of unwitting detachment.

“Come on, you two clearly have a thing.” The girl rolled her golden brown eyes.

“What do you mean, a thing?” He bristled. It didn’t seem too bad of an idea to concentrate on the girl so that he could make sure his thoughts were closely guarded, until a familiar faint smell of some kind of fruity shower gel residue simmering on warm skin attacked him from another direction. Being caught off guard, he merely suppressed the shocked expression racing to his face when his left arm was grabbed and hot breaths landed on his cheeks as the nurse, appearing out of nowhere, said, “times up.”

He swallowed, shaking off Colson’s hand with an irked shrug and peeling himself off the wall to start walking toward the door opposite to the one Colson came in. With a swipe of Colson’s key card, the steel door popped open, shadows brimming in the space behind it.

She was winking at him - of course, disinterestedly - when they were going through the security door.

*

“I see you made a friend.” Once they were in Em’s room, Colson stated as he began shedding his own clothes.

“Hardly.” He sat down on the bed. It creaked under his weight. “So what now?” Remembering the nurse’s threat, it immediately dawned on him that Colson was going to give him another set of blue balls. But he was nothing but recalcitrant. “Your whore ass just can’t help coming back for more, huh?”

Halfway through removing his pants without taking off the pair of navy blue Converse on his feet, Colson stepped over to him, kicking Em’s legs apart as he took up the space in between. There was barely any time for Em to brace himself for the sharp slap landed across his face. Looking up, he glowered at the other’s smug-looking and delicate face for a moment before saying, “you even fight like a bitch.”

“Can you be a good boy or do I need to restrain you like last time?” To Em’s frustration, like drops of water on a bird’s feather, his spiteful remark seemed to glide over Colson’s consciousness and was brushed off with this newer, more imminent threat that glued Em’s lips back together. He fell quiet and resorted to stare at the red bricks tattooed on the other’s stomach, picturing them separating when the skin underneath got ripped open, warm blood splashing and drenching his face with the nurse still impaled on his dick.

He was already hard before Colson even had a chance to peel off the boxer briefs on himself, although feeling impatient and furious, instead of yanking it off, Em, biting the inside of his lips so hard he could almost taste blood, reached up and helped the other out of the last layer of clothes with gentle fingers. The nurse’s cock sprung out, also hardened and hung heavily between a pair of long, svelte legs, the body hair on which felt soft and fuzzy as he ran a hand over the other’s left front thigh.

“No need.” He said, palms open to grab two handfuls of the other’s skinny ass and pulled him closer til Colson’s dick came in contact with his nose. Experimentally, he teased the slit with the tip of his nose. Colson whimpered. The nurse definitely got off on making other people his puppets, Em thought amusingly as he took a mental note, however having control didn’t equal to possessing sadistic tendencies that Colson thought he was guilty of. 

Lost in anticipation of more pleasure and unaware of Em’s thoughts, Colson nudged his dick forward, leaving dots of wetness on Em’s cheek. “Fuck.” The nurse muttered through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring as Em started licking a stripe from midway to the tip. After a few licks, Em tried to swallow it, both curious about if he had the ability to do it like some people did and whether that would milk more interesting noises out of the the nurse. But saliva filled his mouth and threatened to drip down his chin in the most disgraceful way possible before he could even get half of it down, and although there was no physical discomfort and despite the desperate sounds escaping Colson’s throat, he felt like gagging with a kind of nauseating disappointment directed at himself. Then he reevaluated the situation - Colson didn’t worth making a mess out of himself for, let alone last time he wasn’t allowed to change into a fresh pair of pants after Colson came all over him until the next day. So he covered the rest of the other’s length with one hand, quickly dismissing the discomfiture that memory provoked since he was also painfully hard in his boxers. 

“What do you need a dick this big for?” He pulled back, one hand jerking up and down the cock in front of him, the other sneaked to the back and probed at Colson’s already wet entrance. The goddamn nurse was prepping himself when Em was talking to other patients. “You can’t even put it into use.”

Colson moaned in return when Em’s fingers entered his loosened hole, the way his knees buckled visible as it slipped Em’s index and middle finger deeper into his ass. Unable to bridle himself, Em nipped at the colorful skin over the other’s flat stomach with a hint of teeth, tracing along the gaps between planes of red rectangular shapes that he wanted to split open with a thin bladed knife for better precision.

“Wait,” hurried, high-pitched voice, “ah- hold up.” 

He pulled his head back and looked up at the other’s flustered face, his fingers still pumping in and out of Colson’s hole, blindly searching for the small bundle of nerves until Colson gasped and arched his back and pushed himself down on the fingers that were already deep inside him. “Fuck-”

“Stop.” Colson shivered, and shoved Em onto the bed the second those now tacky fingers left the ring of muscles. The next second, like last time, Colson climbed up the bed and straddled him, positioning himself on top of Em’s crotch, navy blue Converse resting on either side of Em’s knees. But this time slender fingers shot up, fumbling as they freed Em’s cock from his pants, then in one swift motion tight heat engulfed his cock as Colson sat down onto it, his walls quivering before giving way to the intrusion. Em groaned and uncontrollably thrusted upwards until heat of the other’s skin nestled directly against his balls. Yet to be opened up thoroughly, the sudden breach got the nurse’s hole clenching to the point of pain. A strained whine and a hand hovering over Em’s throat were enough to keep him in check while Colson jerked himself and moved his hips in curbed, circular motion to rub the head of Em’s dick on his prostate, his legs shuddering every time the spot got hit.

They kept grinding against each other until Colson was loose enough to take more. Hands on his chest for support, the nurse rode his dick hard and fast and at one point he felt like exploding from all the pleasure building inside him without being able to reach a release.

“Fucking whore,” he cursed between labored breaths, hands gripping the sheets, “I bet you want to have my cum in your ass.”

It seemed to go over Colson’s head completely when all the nurse did was arching his back and clutching his dark blond bun and frenetically rolling his hips to eat up Em’s shaft with his ass. The bed creaked dangerously with the movement. Eyes half-lidded and out of focus, a flush crept up Colson’s chest and he helplessly pinched one of his nipples with his free hand. A shaky moan left his bitten lips as a result. 

Colson came twice on his dick, and Em was so oversensitive that he was near tearing up when the nurse finally relented, satiated with two orgasms, letting Em’s still hard dick slip out with a wet pop. He tried to will back the tears of oversensitivity swirling in his eyes, but failed miserably as Colson leaned over to lick his glistening cock, tongue flat against a straining vein. Thankfully the nurse was so absorbed in his own post coital glow that no comment was made regarding the shiny spots accumulated at the corners of Em’s eyes.

After recovering from the exertion, Colson took two pills out of the tray that was already there when they came back from the public area and slipped them into his own pocket, “you know I don’t have to do this, but this is for you being a good boy through your punishment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more smut and more cock blocking? psychopath Em’s gonna murder me
> 
> Also obviously Em’s supposed to be the king of blowjobs but here I imagined he wouldn’t want to give it 100% cuz Colson’s been a little shit to him 😤


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s talk about feelings :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading my own stories is hard, but proofreading them as well? Hell no.
> 
> I tried. hope one day I could be less exacting when it comes to fics that are just for fun. 😳

“Have you heard? He’s forced to take a long leave until his PTSD gets better. It may sound not that bad, but,” Rook, Colson’s colleague who commanded an amount of energy that was plainly incompatible with the sheer size of his body, paused dramatically, eyes roaming Colson’s face to make sure he had the taller man’s attention captured, “the leave’s unpaid.” 

“Ha. Really no surprise there.” He mocked, changing into his medical coat. Feeling glad that now there was yet another reason to pass the impending assessment on all staff’s mental state and work capability, albeit the kind of method he would need to adopt. He needed to stay on the job and not to get laid off on his very first assessment. Both for financial and… personal reasons. What little guilt he had developed over a midnight book reading session two days ago that resulted from his somehow exacerbated insomnia was quickly suppressed. “Remind me why did he have PTSD in the first place?”

“Got spit on and sexually harassed.” Rook shrugged, the right corner of his mouth slightly dragged downward by the sympathetic grimace on his face.

“The first part is weirdly specific.” He noted without putting much thought to it, the only image flooding his mind Em’s flushed and anguished face - an outcome of his subconscious mind envisioning marking the other with spit, the lack of sleep sapping him of his usual avidness in conversations. 

Rook didn’t answer right away, he looked at Colson confusedly for a moment, before turning to rummage through his own locker. So Colson let his mind wander. 

Undoubtedly, he already had Em’s undivided attention, but the almost animalistic desire to take more and plunder was still clawing at his sensible self. He wanted more, he wanted everything that Em had to offer, he wanted to take it all, stripping the other bare - sinew by sinew, cell by cell - and become the only pivot in the other’s life. 

Casting aside the viability of it, the idea had Colson’s dick twitching interestedly in his skinny jeans.

“Well, um… that’s because he described the texture of it to me in gruesome details. Goddammit.” Rook groaned, finally gathering his things and stuffing them into his crowded locker. “Ugh, just the thought of it makes my stomach feel wonky. Gotta go, see you around then.” Oblivious to Colson’s awkward arousal he padded off humming an unfamiliar tune, not waiting for a response.

So Colson didn’t bother with one. The recurring thought of that assessment successfully dampening his arousal, a guttural sigh leaving his throat when he was alone in the room. On top of it, the repaired surveillance camera facing Em’s room made more sexual advances barely possible, especially not with how he tumbled forward on shaky legs after visiting the patient. 

There was something about Em that threw him off right after he came back from the mind-numbing high of having the other on a leash and the ecstacy of his own orgasm, like an invisible yet malevolent presence that drove him out of that room. He told himself that it was for the better not to stay, but it was almost as if he was dreading a backfire. “Quit being a gutless pussy.” A pissy voice bounced off the opposite wall, and it was not until seconds later he recognized the gravel voice as his own.

“Fuck.” The same voice reverberated between the walls.

*

Em stayed temperate through the following week, so Colson didn’t have any reason nor enough energy to overturn the decision of lowering Em’s medication dosage while preparing himself for the assessment. 

It was intriguing that just like a lot of people, Em cared very much about his sexability and would get upset finding out about a problem related to it. And that, to Colson, was the blatant indicator of Em’s paraphernalia of emotions, only that some of them were more overpowering than others, and unlike most people, those emotions for Em were anger, paranoia and probably a dash of insecurity - given how he feared being cheated on. Mulling over the conclusion, Colson was confident that this off-centered diagnosis would be even more helpful than the actual one that was only good for categorization. 

The hair on the sides of his head was growing longer, slowly becoming softer to the touch that Colson had to visit a hair salon at one narrow interval of his work and hectic nights and days he spent figuring out a way to pass the bunch of evaluations. 

His feet brought him to an abrupt stop after walking out of that shop. With the sun ever so slowly setting to the distant edge of the darkening sky, he was facing the salon’s window, and there was this reflection with short, platinum blond hair staring right back at him. He ran a hand through the shortened strands, the familiar weight of the bun and slickness of various kinds of gels nonexistent, and what stood in their place was a sort of refined fluffiness. The immediate reaction was regret, then it vanished and was replaced by a feeling of emptiness. Strings of sentiment tangent to each other twisting in a knot, generating an impulse to sit down and comb through them all.

Nevertheless, remembering unfinished work, he blinked out of his trance, muzzled emotions that felt foreign on account of merely a new haircut and let anxiety about the assessment wash over him in a sprawling wave as he resumed walking.

Contrary to his teachers’ impression, Colson did pay attention in med school. Lying to pass one mental health test for him should be easy, but to get through them all without slipping? Dedication was only a mild way of putting it. And two weeks’ time was hardly sufficient. Sleep deprivation was catching up on him as the fateful day approached, and the mounting pressure of future unpredictabilities quickly pushed him to the brink of tipping. But he refrained from taking any of the pills he cut from Em’s supply, the fear of any tiny variance jeopardizing his entire planned course of action devastating. 

He had always known there was something wrong with him, some kind of issues with control, and maybe some emotional detachment problems, but thanks to them not interfering with his daily life he never tried to self-diagnose. Ironically, now it only added to his anxieties because how could someone pretend to be someone else when they didn’t even know who themselves were?

*

The next day, after gulping down his third cup of coffee, Colson arranged Em’s tray with shaking hands as caffeine pumped through his veins. The automatic, nearly robotic movement from muscle memories soothing like a full hour of dreamless sleep after smoking a joint(he quit weed after college but it was difficult to forget how it felt). It was at that moment his unconscious mind slipped to enter a place of bottled up emotions, where normally he would only allow access when he was alone at home, safe from the outside world. And a sudden feeling of loneliness wrenched his heart, tearing through his already shivering body.

“Fuck.” He croaked, and ran a hand through his dry and crisp hair - a habit formed within the last 24 hours. 

Finally getting a hold of himself after several deep and even inhales and exhales, heart palpitating, he set off to walk down the corridor. Filling the stygian passage was the smell of moisture, chilly, like a precursor of snow. He ignored sounds coming from rooms on both sides and went straight for the one at the end of the dim tunnel that he knew all too well, the need to see Em compelling not because of the fulfillment of his desire for control, unexpectedly, but because that he wanted to talk. He had friends, surely, with Rook being one of them, but none of them could find out what he did to Em nor understand why even if he came clean with them. And having Em’s attention felt good, despite the danger of it.

Behind the locked door Em was lying on his bed, one arm folded under his head and the other resting peacefully over his stomach. The sleeves of Em’s patient shirt were rolled up, revealing intricate lines of tattoos hugging his arms. Em didn’t sit up or so much as acknowledge Colson’s existence when hearing the door clink, and only hummed his recognition as Colson reached his bedside. 

“Come on man, you know the drill.” He said, the edge he usually had in his tone nowhere to be found. And that change seemed to attract the other’s drifting attention as cold blue eyes locked onto his and the increasing intensity of the stare made the muscles surrounding his vocal chords contract involuntarily and for a second he couldn’t find his own voice, a shiver emitted from the epicenter that was his throat rippled through his body.

“You changed your hair.” It was Em who broke the silence. Yet it made Colson’s self-consciousness flare even more.

A dreary “Yeah” was the only word he could muster.

“I like this one better.”

Colson hoped that his jaw wasn’t on the floor or it would be very, very awkward for the both of them. In order to check just in case, he swallowed experimentally, relieved to feel the pressure between his lips and it restored his ability to form complete sentences. 

“I wasn’t expecting that, if I’m being completely honest with you.” He signaled Em to sit up so that he could put the tray onto the bed. The other obeyed, then dangled his legs over the edge in an attempt to imitate a petulant kid. The effort was quickly undermined by Em’s passive expression. Colson smiled where Em couldn’t see his face, sitting down on the floor and leaned his back against the bed frame, just like the way Em did it. The posture let his neck get incredibly close to Em’s right hand, making it quite easy if the other decided it was a good time to squash some windpipes, but Colson didn’t bulge. He knew he was playing with fire, he was just too tired and too anxious to care. The warmth radiating off of Em’s legs felt grounding, he shifted, trying to get close to its source without Em noticing.

“If you are here to remind me how I can’t fuck, I suggest you to get the fuck out.” Em warned, his voice smooth as honey.

“No.” The single word seemed to strain him, and he was at a loss as to what to say next. To determine where the conversation should go, he looked up hoping to find some kind of hint on Em’s face, and was greeted with a frown just as nonplussed as his own. Then he saw Em’s hair, dark roots had grown out making the line between the deep brown and mawkish yellow crooked. Without access to a razor, there was already a thick stubble forming on Em’s chin and around his mouth - also in the dark brown color. Colson’s mind dwelled on the fake blond joke people always threw blond girls’ way for a moment, before thinking better of it and said, “well, looks like you could use a hair cut as well.”

“No shit.” Em agreed, “and you still haven’t said what you are here for.”

He sighed after an intense pause of struggling for a believable explanation, “I don’t know.”

“Now that’s not true.” Em bumped Colson’s left shoulder with his knee, the temporary contact insinuating intimacy, or maybe Colson was the one who’s delusional. “You are clearly distressed, and the subject in question is not me.”

“No, it’s not.” He was left with no choice but to acquiesce. 

It was followed by total silence on Em’s end. With the other’s body temperature retreating, Colson was again hyper aware of the chilly and damp air expelled from the building’s ventilation system. 

“Can I ask you something?” The thought just occurred, and he was too weak to fight the temptation. Leaning his head back onto the thin and worn-down mattress, he could see Em studying him.

“No stupid questions.” 

“Did you care about her?” Tentatively, he laid it out, averting Em’s gaze in the meantime.

“Who?”

“Your ex, I mean...” Colson felt uncomfortable in his own skin. “Yeah.”

“I guess you are just really good at being stupid, huh?” 

It was difficult to tell if Em was deriding or getting upset without seeing his expression. “I’m-” His speech faltered as he tried to keep on top of the conversation.

“But I think I did care, one way or another.” Em interrupted, “crazy or not. Fucking ironic you can’t be cured from emotions.” 

His anxiety somehow quelled. “Yeah, I guess you cannot,” Not knowing what else to say, Colson repeated in almost a whisper as a soft clatter behind him indicated that Em was starting to take those pills. “Guess you can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friend D suggested the annual assessment and I love it, huge thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever, Happy New Year friends! 
> 
> TW// mentions of self harm and self harm scars. Please proceed with caution.

The nurse left the room after a moment of prolonged silence. Both of them seemed to be laden with an inability of finding the right thing to say. Something was on Colson’s mind, it was basically written all over his face and each of his movements bore a kind of weariness, which, along with the odd and ill-timed question, caught Em off guard. He could handle a mean and bitchy Colson, but this doleful version who just changed his hair, presumably on a whim, was disrupting his merely established coping mechanism to Colson’s demanding ass.

What raised a red flag for himself was the knee bump, he didn’t have to do that, but again, like many a times before, emotions clearly got the best of him. The psychiatrist here told him he had antisocial personality disorder, but how could it be when he still got swooped up by tumultuous feelings? The situation he was in carried too many unwanted parallels to the one he had with his ex, a compelling desire stemmed from his obsession with Colson muddied his originally neat plan, blurring lines he was adamant about not crossing.

Of course, his ulterior motive hadn’t changed, getting out of this place that he’d been condemned to was always a priority. Playing house with Colson was only supposed to keep himself entertained and away from boredom, but now he wanted the tall brunette - blond now, he mentally corrected himself - in every sense of the term. 

He did more pushups. Inspecting his reflection in the window, Em was pleased to see the disappearance of fat that was piling over his stomach. But in its stead the thing that began to nag at him was his hair. After one month stuck in this nuthouse, he became the brunette between the two, it was as if he and Colson had swapped hair color on an agreement. He snorted at the ridiculousness of it all, gave his reflection one final glance and went on to sit on the bed. 

There were two options left for Em. One, to coddle himself like an irresolute wuss and go with the flow of his desires or whatever it was people seemed to be talking about being spontaneous these days. Two, to fight it at all cost, for that Colson should never know one more thing that could be wielded to his advantage. Manipulative, yes, manipulative should be the only word that described their relationship. Em contemplated as he bit the inside of his cheeks. Being exploited and exploiting other people consisted of the whole world, wasn’t it? 

Be that as it may, his subconsciousness seemed to have found a way to get around his analytical and sensible self, successfully tipping the cup over to the first alternative. 

*

The next day when Colson came in, the low spirit adhered to him swept the room almost instantly, as though there were a million invisible tentacles of uneasiness winding their cold, insistent grips around his limbs. What accompanied was a pensive frown that draped over the blond’s usually lax eyes, which were now a pair of bottomless, turbulent ocean blues.

Colson waited until Em finished washing down the variously shaped pills - whose number was gradually dwindling thanks to the nurse’s last remaining sense of responsibility - to part his lips, a sign of vacillation. One broken syllable simmered at the bottom of the tall blond’s throat, almost like there was something trying to break out of him. Then whatever it was got aborted when Em rose his eyes expectantly to meet Colson’s, the owner of said eyes immediately blinked and repositioned his focus onto the stainless steel tray.

“If you got something to say, spill.” Em felt exasperated, “I ain’t playing games with you.” He hated being kept in the dark, with anything that was happening to or even remotely around him. Then, recalling their last exchange, he added before the other had a chance to pick up the conversation, “if there are more questions coming, I have one condition.”

“Huh-uh?” A guilty look on Colson’s face belied the nonchalance in his voice.

“Show me your tattoos, and I’ll sit through whatever the fuck Q&A session you have in mind.” And a Q&A was not always disadvantageous to the recipient, as long as they knew how not to spill their guts with one nudge.

Silence followed, expanding within the small space and Em could almost hear the clinking sound of cogs turning in the other’s head. Unlike Em, who rarely got affected by intermittent recess during a conversation, Colson squirmed ever so slightly, transfixed in place by the stilled air.

“No touching.” Finally, the blond gave in.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He answered, sarcasm dripping out of each word.

“Have you forgotten that I’m still in charge of your medication?” Colson crossed his arms, the frown still plaguing his expression. “Now you have one more chance.”

“Alright, alright. Geez, I got it, no touching. Happy?”

“You goddamn right I am.” Colson bit out, as his arms moved reluctantly to get rid of the medical coat and the plain blue shirt underneath. 

Em was sure his eyes were having ice cream when those two layers of fabric hit the floor. That was the first time he got to see the other’s tattoos up close without them being in a sexual setup. He beckoned the other close, eyes glued to the expanse of intricate lines and colors as Colson hesitantly obeyed. 

“Man… You’re staring.” Colson prompted, “it’s weird.”

“Just ask your damn questions.” At the same time he gestured the other to turn around, not sparing one glance at the nurse’s face. “Dali? You’re more artsy than I thought.”

“And now look who’s asking.” A tsk followed Colson’s disapproving statement, but the blond didn’t move or turn back, body immobile while Em raked his eyes over the color blocks. Transfixed, it was downright impossible for Em to come up with a retort that’s anything more than some enraptured gibberish. 

“So… How is it like to be crazy and moody?” The question sounded uncertain, but there was also a determination behind it, something almost a kind of fragile trust that allowed Em access to the back of Colson’s unprotected neck.

“What the fuck does that suppose to mean?” Defense was the first thing that came to his mind - a reaction when you felt under attack - but then he relented as he remembered their deal. Also there wasn’t anything he could do to begin with, as long as they were still inside the hospital, Colson owned him, and except for a vague floorplan of the building in mind, he still hadn’t figured out the “how” of getting out. 

Surprisingly, Colson didn’t press for answers, nor did he bulge with Em’s harsh tone. “You done?” He said in an imperative manner. “I’m turning around.”

“Uh-huh.” He hummed his agreement, and was then greeted by the nurse’s thoughtful blue eyes.

“Okay, wrong choice of words.” Colson said, more to himself than to anybody else. “Do you feel different? From normal people?” 

As Em was sitting and Colson standing, he could feel the blond’s breaths skate over his face, and something in his neck cracked looking up at the blond. But there wasn’t time for him to feel angry or upset as contrary to Colson’s words, the nurse’s actions spoke volumes for an uncharacteristic obedience. It probably went over Colson’s own head when he waited for Em’s permission before moving, and that piqued Em’s fascination and he took a mental note.

“I wouldn’t know.” He deadpanned, “never been a normal person.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Would you call imagining the taste of your girlfriend’s blood normal?”

Colson shrugged, noncommittal, as if he couldn’t decide. To kill some time before the other made up his mind, Em’s eyes trailed down the front of Colson’s body, the descent smooth until a thin and merely healed scar shot into view. The slightly inflamed tissue hidden between stark ink lines, its innocent outlook masking the desperation and deep-rooted confusion behind it.

He brought his focus back up again as the expected answer from the other didn’t come, and that only caused him to meet Colson’s intense stare half way. Now they both knew there was no letting it slide.

“Why’d you do it?” Em gave in and broke the condensing atmosphere.

“Curious.” Never breaking eye contact, Colson brushed it off with a tight smile, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Have you tried this kind of thing before?”

“Only on others.” Knowing when to back off, Em answered. 

“You think there’s something wrong with me?” There was a weak snort of mirth.

“Careful. That fake joking tone of yours won’t work on me.” Then it hit him, “you don’t even know what you are, do you? And you came begging me to be your baseline or some shit.”

Somewhere a clock ticked time away while they stared at each other. Outside, the sun was up, the snow from last night melting under the washed out heat that generated a whisper-like crescendo special to this occasion.

A sigh escaped Colson’s lips the same time he averted his gaze, “there’s this assessment…”

Although most details about it were omitted, it was still enough for Em to know that the ostensible cocksureness and control Colson displayed when giving orders was merely an overcompensation for his very lack of them. 

“So you are not sure if you could pass it because you can’t pinpoint your own problems?” Em concluded, eyes moving onto the ink blocks curled on Colson’s right arm.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Why is it so important to pass?”

“I-” Colson stopped, body tensing, face deliberately blank. However, the facade quickly slinked away before Em could get a read off of it. “It would be inconvenient not to.”

To say he was fascinated would be an understatement and a platitude. “And you did this when?” He nodded to the puffy scar. He imagined adding many more.

“The day before yesterday.” Colson confessed.

“You don’t look uncomfortable talking about this.” He observed. “People usually do.”

“It was just temporary stupidity, nothing to be ashamed of.” Colson said, straightening his back. “Didn’t work, won’t do it again. Plain and simple.” 

“You don’t attach any importance to your body, do you?” With so many futile visits to different psychiatrists, Em felt like he might as well try to get something out of them. “No matter what happens to it, it don’t affect you.”

“I know you ain’t stupid, but you’re trying too hard.” The blond sneered, “I’m asking the questions.”

“Didn’t seem like it.”

“Oh I was only letting you.” The crescendo outside was still going on. Droplets of melted snow hitting the concrete. Colson started picking up his clothes. “Why the thought of your ex cheating so unbearable? She wasn’t like your first as far as I know.”

“She was whoring herself out.” He spit.

“But you didn’t care for her. Not in the traditional sense at least.” Colson’s tattoos were entirely covered as the coat was put back on, the deal should be off by now but Em couldn’t stop himself from rambling.

“She belonged to me. If anybody’s gonna do anything with it, that anybody’s only gonna be me. She thought she could just control me like that?”

“With her.” 

“What?” 

“Do anything with her.” Colson repeated, “you said ‘with it’.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” He chuckled. A moment of silence passed. “Come here.” He beckoned.

“For what?” The blond seemed skeptical, but did it anyway. Em pulled the other closer by the hem of the coat, until his nose was brushing against the other’s chest. Then he moved, as if in slow motion, to press his lips on where the scar should be. Colson sighed.

In his head he bit down hard enough that blood soaked through the two layers of clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest I didn’t even know what the fuck I was writing no more, my characters seemed to have developed minds of their own and started dictating the way I wrote them :’)
> 
> But hey, we’re about halfway through! Once this au’s finished I’ll be getting back to write some fluff that’s long overdue.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long, I started this fic because I had absolutely no life, and now I have a little more on my plate (though I can’t say which is better), so you might wanna expect longer update intervals :_)  
> Thank you, if you’re still following this fic, for bearing with my procrastinating ass and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

The crisp sound from a snap of fingers brought him back to reality. “Are you hooking up with someone?” Rook’s hand was still right in front of his nose, while slightly farther away a mischievous grin emerged on his short friend’s face.

“Nah, man. Just tired.” He yawned, swating Rook’s hand away in a convincingly slow swipe of arm, which he assumed should be indicative enough of the state of depleted energy he was in. 

Rook was making coffee for the both of them while Colson sloped against the counter, one hand holding his head up by the chin. Mind drifting, he mulled over the possibility of adding a “fuck you” tattoo on the side of his palm, just right above the wrist. 

They had retreated to the office side of the building after delivering both of their patients to the public area about ten minutes ago, now steam was steadily rising from their mugs, as the unremarkable smell of cheap coffee permeated the room. On Colson’s mug there was a line printed, “Best Friends: Because if anyone else hears our conversations. We’d end up in a mental hospital.” Languidly, he eyed the words. The ludicrous veracity of them felt surreal at this time and space, as he was safely tucked away from other crazed and degenerate minds behind those closed security doors. Rook was going on and on about their mutual friend who worked at a newly opened bar downtown. But instead of concentrating on the topic or the assessment that he was soon to be hit with, his sneaky bastard of a patient was again occupying - almost plaguing - his thoughts. 

He was wrong, yet right at the same time. Em maybe was insecure, but it was more a fear of losing his properties - like worrying about your favorite pair of shoes or some fancy jewelleries. With the patient’s own slip of tongue when referring to an ex as “it”, his pathology finally registered with Colson. Nevertheless, it didn’t make it any less difficult to imagine that for Em people were largely objectified, tagged and categorized, eventually tossed away like broken toys.

“They are throwing a party tonight, we need to go!” His friend exclaimed, seemingly free from the mental tribulation the incoming assessment exerted on Colson. Of course Rook’s not stressed, he internally scoffed at himself, Rook’s an optimistic fucker and the most normal person in this entire building, even when the low bar of sanity here was taken out of the equation.

“Rookie, don’t you think it’s too much of a rush?” Feeling stuck, he pled, weakly, then with the same indecisive tone, “it’s only one day til-”

“Come on!” Rook cut in, throwing his hands up in a mildly disgruntled manner. The one thing Colson knew about his friend was that Rook never got angry with him, and he could only whine for so long. “Slim bought his first keyboard, he’d want us there! And he’ll be performing! Come on, don't be an ass.” 

That, he didn’t see coming. “Ain’t no fucking way. He did what!” Now he had no choice but to go. It wasn’t something to pass on. Slim used to be his flat-mate, determined to be a musician, even when they rocked bottom and there seemed to be no hope. At the time Colson was studying toward his diploma while Slim worked at a fast-food chain, bringing home cold greasy junk food from work every night. Then after dinner he would play the out-of-tune guitar they picked up at a flea market with Colson, under a bleary lamp where they could barely make out the strings, pools of shadows flowing over the fretboard every time the guitar was being strummed. There was always more to save, utility bills not excluded. 

Why was it so important to pass? He ruminated sullenly. But something else about it, something more pressing than the question itself, chimed in and caught his attention - the question was asked in Em’s cool, honey smooth voice. What worsened this problematic enough issue of Colson’s subconscious adopting Em’s drawl, like an omnipotent incarnation of Em’s self-entitled, impassive yet covetous spirit, was that the voice was in fact making a strong argument. 

Truth was, it would never be the end of the world if he didn’t pass, and Slim could always make extra room in gigs to accommodate his old flat-mate who happened to play decent guitar. Which, he had become terribly out-of-practice ever since Em’s arrival.

Deep down, he knew Em was pulling him into a spiral that led to nothing but complete derangement. But how could he quit? When he was so close to cracking Em's twisted mind? As much as he hated it, his firmly ensconced proclivity for abnormality and desire for some kind of closure could not be surgically removed like tumors, this was worse - a mental illness that could be neither diagnosed nor treated, but was slowly killing him nonetheless as its appetite grew exponentially. 

It was a dangerous game, one wrong step the cost would be himself. 

His train of thought was cut off when a movement got picked up by his peripheral. An excited Rook was bouncing toward him, and his jovial spirit nearly made him trip over his own steps with two mugs full of hot black coffee still in hand. 

Having had plenty of practice, Colson automatically reached out to secure the mugs from Rook. He didn’t know what betrayed him, but after Rook steadied himself there was that “I just saw through you” smug expression on his face again.

“Who is it?” The devilish smirk resurfaced, along with a new found determination that seemed to be fueling Rook to get to the bottom of it. “You’re definitely banging someone.”

“List your evidence then, no half-ass assumptions, Rookie.” He took a sip from his mug, and crinkled his nose. The coffee was tastelessly harsh. “That word is basically ass-u-me, got it?” Putting the mug down, his fingers stroked over the slightly uneven surface where the words were printed.

The ghost of a smile hovering over the corners of Rook’s mouth was quickly fettered by an influx of curiosity and complacence, as if he had already spotted Colson’s poor attempt at covering up his fucking around with Em.

“You want evidence?” Taking a sip of his coffee, Rook immediately frowned, “where the hell did they dig this up? Tastes like dirt.” 

“As long as it gets my ass moving, can’t complain.” Colson shrugged, throwing out a bait and hoping that his friend would get distracted. 

“So, here’s your evidence.” Before Colson could offer something else to capture Rook’s scattering attention, his friend cut in with the ominous statement. “First, you’ve been daydreaming this whole morning-”

“Because of the assessment for fuck’s sake.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling trapped.

“Second, when you’re not getting actions you bitch about it, rather than playing the jury with me.” Rook waltzed near him to give him a shoulder bump. “And you just handed me the third on a plate - you never stop me if all I have is some bullshit.”

“Hey I wasn’t stopping you, I was just stating the facts!” Masking his dishonesty felt extremely exhausting since he was never a smooth liar with his friends. The habit of being true to himself around his friends would one day undoubtedly be the doom of him, as they knew him well enough to recognize the nuances. He thought dejectedly as Rook flashed a knowing wink at him before starting gulping down his coffee.

“Hold up bitch-” Taking advantage of his height, even when he was still in a sitting position, reaching out to snatch the mug from right under Rook’s nose hardly broke a sweat. Ignoring the series of protesting sounds from his friend, he poured what was left in the mug into his own.

“Gross.” Rook commented disapprovingly and defeatedly.

“Your loss.” He bit, finally coming to grips with a fleeting sense of balance.

*

The security doors posed the biggest problems to his escape plan, since he could not carry it out when he’s in the public area with all the eyes on him, and that meant only if he had possession of the keys to both doors would he be able to get to the elevator. Which could be safely declared as an appetizer to the three-course meal that was Em’s entire escape plan. But first of all, he’d need to find something sharp enough to be used as a weapon.

He was again leaning against that stretch of blank wall of the public area, between one table made of cheap plastics and a slightly sturdier vertical file cabinet. Speaking of, he had not a single clue as to why the cabinet was there. It just stood there, closely fitted to the corner, with a thin layer of dust blanketing its surface. Em had never seen anyone open any of the tightly locked drawers, and no one even cared to clean it. It seemed as if it came straight out of a horror movie, with an aura of foreboding cradling its metallic shell. Shadows formed at its feet, their edges blurred as pale, enervated light cast down from fluorescent lights extending over the ceiling in all direction. 

Studying the outlines of the cabinet absentmindedly while chewing over the details of his plan, he almost didn’t notice another patient approaching if it was not for the bustling shadows on the person’s heels. Reining in his unreserved expression, Em tilted his head to the direction of said movements, only to find it was that phlegmatic girl again. Gregarious much for someone that indifferent? Em mused, but curbed his sarcasm to make sure the only emotion she could find in his eyes was a kind of vacuous reticence.

The girl studied him for an uncomfortable second, then nodded her greetings. “How exciting.” Her tone was far from ardent, quite the opposite of it even, as she gestured to him to move and squeezed in the space between Em and the file cabinet before Em showed any compliance. “What? Don’t wanna see me that bad? This is only our second date.”

“Oh, give me a break.” His face scrunched up in exaggerated distaste, “whatever’s on your mind, spill. Or fuck off.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” She cooed, making herself comfortable and lazily resting the back of her head on the file cabinet’s top edge, hands in her pants pockets. “Looking for a way out?” 

“What?” If it wasn’t for her raised brows, he would have believed that he really had gone crazy and gotten his very own brand of delusion. The psychiatrist here asked him to “take a step back and see your reality”, but he could see reality just fine, it was not like he had hallucinated people walking around with giant animal heads or guts dragging outside of their body. And the constant persuasion and prevarication from the doctors just planted the root of doubt and distrust deeper into his already skeptical mind. There was no other explanation than that the doctors were only stalling his discharge so that he wouldn’t be out there doing things that normal people would not have the capacity to understand nor tolerance for. And that, was both very unfair and an act of cowardice.

The girl subtly eyed the crowd around them, and puffed out a quiet sigh as if she was disappointed by the nonchalant flock before fumbling for something in her right pocket. Em observed her movements with a kind of passive curiosity, which quickly got overcome by a renewed intensity when a key, shiny, was presented on her small palm. 

“What is that?” He asked, voice tense, disbelieving. 

“For that door.” She raised her chin ever so slightly, as Em’s eyes followed her gesture and landed on the security door on the office side. “Dared that stupid boy to steal it.” His focus shifted again as she directed his attention to the numb looking boy, who was probably heavily sedated like pretty much everybody else in here - even the girl’s movements were checked in a way that could only be explained by the doses of sedatives running through her veins. He spared a look at her carotid artery on the thought of veins. Thanks to Colson’s ulterior motives, all Em had were a dwindling amount of pills and a pretense of inertia for him to blend in.

“And you’re giving me these why?” He pressed as she forced the key in his hand. 

“I’m bored.” She shrugged. “And you’re my favorite.”

“You want me to bust you out? Forget about that, I can hardly do that for myself.” He snorted, crossing his arms in defence.

“Who says I’m leaving?” The look she gave him was as if she had already seen the end of her life and liked it. “This is my home.”

“And I should trust you why?” 

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Her voice rose, and Em shoved the keys into his pocket as a nurse’s head turned sharply by the noise to lock eyes on the girl. “What can happen, will happen!” She shouted while slowly moving to the center of the room, “only way to cheat the game is death!” Her fervor immediately set the dead air alight, in the chaos consisted of several patients’ groaning and howling and the nurses rushing in to pull another pair of patients at each other’s throat apart, she winked at him before his arm was grabbed.

Being pulled away from the screeching madness and deep into the darkness of the corridor, only things anchoring him were the small but solid presence of the metal piece in his pocket and the warmth of Colson’s hand on his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best friend mug mentioned in this chapter is an actual product! If you don’t follow me on tumblr here’s the link to my post with a pic of the mug: https://powdergum.tumblr.com/post/643328202878648321/show-chapter-archive


End file.
